


Squabble

by T J Feardorcha (MonsterTesk)



Category: Walking Dead
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grieving, Hallucinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:40:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTesk/pseuds/T%20J%20Feardorcha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When he holds her, all he can hear is screaming. Not hers, but her mothers. Screaming and old fights. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squabble

**Author's Note:**

> Me and my dream girl like to sometimes give each other one word prompts then allow ten minutes to fill the prompt. This is one result of the prompting. Her word for me was "Squabble."

 

"I wasn't there, Lor. I wasn't… Why can't you be silent? You're dead."

 

Rick should know better by now. He really should. You can't argue with the dead. No matter how they die. Yelling won't bring them back and hitting doesn't pound any sense into them. 

It's hopeless.

Useless.

But it doesn't stop him. 

 

"LEAVE ME ALONE."

 

His knees hit old wooden planks, splinters dig in with a gleeful alacrity. 

Nails dig in to the soft sides of the wood. This bridge was never meant to go so long between maintenance. The wood was soft in places, hard and rough in others. It was just a bridge, one little bridge over a stream out where no one could see him. 

If he wanted, if he had the balls, he could climb the gate, hold open his arms and welcome the end to this constant fight.

 

Even dead she won't stop fighting him, judging him, finding him to be wanting. 

She had said, _No matter what, this is your baby._

When he holds her, all he can hear is screaming. Not hers, but her mothers. Screaming and old fights. 

 

"You died and you still won't leave me."

 

She could always find something he was doing that she didn't like. 

He would always take it and try to do better. For her. For Carl, he could be better. 

_I don't care what he says, this is your baby._

 

Some days he can't even remember her name. He can't right now. Carl would know. Carl helped her into the world from his living-dead mother. 

He did what Rick had done before. He was following right in to his father's footsteps. A bullet for his best friend, another for his wife. 

How long would it be until he could add son and daughter to that?

 

Her cries echo at night and Rick is never sure if it's Lori or the infant. Just one continuous self-imposed squabble against all that he's done.

His head hits his knuckles and he can see the white of her dress next to his dirty hands.

 

 

"Come back," he says, "Come back."

He would kill to hear her voice again. Even to hear her lie again and say she's his baby.


End file.
